This morning, as I made myself some hardboiled eggs in the general quiet of the House of Rock pre-dawn, I heard a quiet quiet electronic voice that sounded like it was coming from the flames of our range.
I paused, confused, and then heard it again.
Ultimately, I determined it was my phone which had somehow dialed my voicemail in my pocket. “please enter your password followed by the pound key”
but for one moment there, I must admit, I thought the future was trying to communicate me.
Maybe it was the future. Did you try entering your password?
aww crap.
I totally didn’t enter my password. I probably missed out on some sweet technologies.
As soon as I get home today I’ll turn the range back on and see if they try to communicate again.
It’s probably Future Mike D, telling you something like “don’t forget to do the dishes”, or “wear a bullet-proof vest when you’re down in the empty carpark after selling Libyian terrorists fake bomb-making equipment”.
No man should know too much about their own future.
It makes them all crazy.